Chapter 3
THREE
Kenzie stared at the smoking wreckage where the Blue Fantasy had been seconds before.
The concussive force had slammed into her back, heat washing over her even from this distance. What happened?
The yacht was gone. Just…gone.
“What did you do?” Her voice came out hoarse, barely audible over the cigarette boat’s engine. There were nine people on this thing. They were packed like…the only thing that came to mind was cigarettes.
Jaz glanced at her but said nothing. He scooted past Barn, headed to the helm, his profile hard and unfamiliar in the golden glow of sunset.
His disguise had washed away in the salt water.
His short blond hair was back. The beard was gone.
He looked like the carefree playboy who’d interrupted her dinner in St. Barts the night before.
But she realized now, that man had been a lie, no less a costume than the wig and fake beard.
This Jaz—with his intense focus and the gun holstered at his hip—was a stranger too.
Her crew huddled together, their wide eyes fixed on her like she might have answers. Like she could explain why they had suddenly been thrust into this madness.
“It’s going to be okay,” she called over the engine noise. A lie, of course. Nothing about this situation was okay.
Barn’s expression darkened. He didn’t believe it either.
The driver ran the boat hard, skimming the tops of the swells.
They’d been riding in silence for an hour when she spotted a Coast Guard cutter in the distance, its orange stripe distinctive. Finally, rescue. Finally, answers.
The man at the helm adjusted course, the boat slowing as they approached the larger vessel.
Jaz tossed a line to the cutter, securing them alongside.
A Jacob’s ladder unfurled from the deck, dangling against its hull.
Jaz gripped the rope ladder and ascended, muscles straining beneath his wet T-shirt.
“What’s happening?” Kenzie’s youngest crew member whispered beside her. “Are we being arrested?”
“Of course not,” Kenzie said, keeping her eyes on Jasper as he climbed onto the Coast Guard vessel. “We were attacked and rescued. We’ve done nothing wrong.”
Well, except transport drugs, but there was no evidence to support that claim, and who knew if Jaz was right? Maybe those crates had been filled with clothes and personal items.
She couldn’t bring herself to believe they’d been transporting drugs.
Raised voices drifted down. She couldn’t make out every word, but the tone was unmistakable. An officer faced off with Jaz, clearly furious. “—completely unauthorized!” The wind carried fragments of the officer’s tirade. “That explosion could have—”
“—to spare the drugs?” Jasper’s response was more controlled, his voice lower, if equally intense.
“That’s not the point!” The officer stepped toward him, but Jaz didn’t move. “There are protocols to—”
The wind shifted and the man’s words blew away with it. Something about rules, she thought.
Jasper crossed his arms. “—were notified…” The wind gusted, stealing the rest of his sentence.
Even after the gust passed, she couldn’t make out what the men said. Who was Jaz, really? The Coast Guard seemed to know him, but that didn’t mean they liked him or his methods.
Though he’d saved her, she felt about the same.
The officer took something Jaz offered him.
Must have been a cell phone, because the CO raised it to his ear and listened, glaring at Jaz all the while.
Kenzie stood, hiked her small ditch bag onto her shoulder, and made her way to the man who seemed to be second in command, the one who’d spoken to Jaz earlier. “What’s going on?”
He shrugged. “Not my place to say.” His accent was French, St. Barts style.
Beside him, a dark-skinned man behind the wheel said, “Be patient, ma’am. Please, sit.” He sounded Haitian.
She backed up but remained standing, watching the scene on the cutter.
Jaz stood across from the CO, who was still talking on the phone, while everyone on the speedboat observed the scene.
After a brief conversation, the Coast Guard officer gave the phone back to Jasper and nodded to his men. The officer’s face was tight with anger.
“Your crew will board now,” the Haitian told Kenzie.
Two Coast Guard crew members descended the Jacob’s ladder to help guide her people up. One by one, they climbed aboard—first the junior crew members, and finally Barn, who cast one last concerned glance at Kenzie before ascending the ladder and disappearing over the railing.
When it was her turn, the Coast Guardsman who’d been issuing instructions to the others held up his hand. “Not you, ma’am. You stay here.”
“What?” Kenzie stepped forward, confusion turning quickly to alarm. “No, I need to stay with my crew.”
Jasper climbed over the railing above and descended the ladder. He landed on the deck and faced her.
“You’re with me.”
“Absolutely not.” Her insides swooped as if they’d hit a big wave. “I’m getting on that boat. I’m staying with my crew.”
“Sorry, but you’re not.” He didn’t seem to be arguing with her, just stating facts.
“You can’t kidnap me!” She glanced desperately up at the Coast Guard deck, where Barn was leaning over the railing.
“What’s going on?” he called.
A uniformed man pulled him back, and she didn’t see him again.
She turned to the Guardsmen who’d helped her crew board. “Permission to board, sir.”
“Sorry, ma’am.” The man looked genuinely distressed, but he hoisted himself up the ladder. The second followed without a backward glance.
What was happening?
She needed to get on that vessel. She needed out of this…this bizarre speedboat with its crazy, ship-exploding skipper.
But an instant after the second Guardsman hauled himself over the railing, the ladder ascended.
“Please, sit.” The Haitian nodded to the benches that ringed the boat. “We will move fast.”
The boat engine roared, and she lowered herself to the bench to prevent herself from falling overboard.
On second thought, maybe that would be a better option.
The ocean stretched before them in endless blue as the boat carved through the waves, the sun hovering over the horizon, painting the water in shades of red and gold. She’d find it beautiful under other circumstances.
She’d chosen a life on the water because she knew how to deal with the threats out here—high waves and sudden storms could be managed. But dangerous men—those she’d thought she’d left on shore.
Wrong again, Kenzie.
Her stomach got tighter with each mile that carried her farther from her crew, from safety, from any semblance of control over her own life.
On the bench across from her, Jaz’s face was unreadable.
She glared at him, not that he was paying any attention to her.
He hadn’t asked what she wanted. Hadn’t explained. Just pulled some string somewhere, and now she was trapped with this group against her will.
She did not appreciate having someone dictate her every move. This was exactly why she’d left Maine.
She peeled off her deck shoes, thankful she hadn’t lost them in the ocean. Maybe they’d get dry before the boat landed.
They bounced over a wave, and Kenzie gripped the edge of the bench. Her clothes had mostly dried, but salt crusted her skin and hair, making her feel gritty and itchy. The physical discomfort was nothing compared to the gnawing uncertainty that ate at her insides.
She glanced around, taking in details she’d missed in the chaos of their escape. An open case lay secured to the deck near the stern, filled with weapons—automatic rifles, handguns, and boxes of ammunition.
She checked her pocket for her Sig, but it wasn’t there. She had no idea when or where she’d lost it, but without it, she felt completely vulnerable, a dolphin in a sea of sharks.
Maybe she could grab a handgun.
She glanced at the faces around her. Jaz wasn’t paying any attention, but the man at the stern—a big Hispanic-looking guy—glared at her. In his eyes, she saw a dare. Try it and see what happens.
She’d have to hope for an opportunity to grab a weapon, but based on the gleam in his eye, he wasn’t about to give her one.
Great. Unarmed and surrounded by crazy armed men.
Next to the weapons sat an open bag. She spied night-vision goggles and what looked like a bulletproof vest.
These weren’t weekend warriors playing at being tough. These were professionals.
But professional…what? Rescuers? Were they mercenaries or soldiers in some war?
The Haitian at the helm’s arms were decorated with military-style tattoos. He wore a pistol on his hip, as did the man beside him, the one with the French accent. Unlike the driver, he was Caucasian.
The Hispanic guy at the stern sat forward, elbows on his knees, glaring at her.
As if being taken against her will had been her idea.
She turned her attention to the man across from her, the apparent ringleader. “Where are we going?” Kenzie raised her voice over the engine noise.
Jaz’s attention snapped in her direction as if he’d forgotten she was there. “Somewhere safe.”
“That really narrows it down, thanks.” Kenzie worked to keep the anger and fear out of her voice. “Listen, Jaz. You kidnapped me. I deserve to know where we’re going and why I’m here.”
He straightened, lips twisting in a smirk. “I didn’t kidnap you. I saved your life.” He stood and lifted the bench where he’d been sitting. From beneath, he pulled bottles of water. He handed her one, then handed them to the rest of his…crew, she supposed they were, before he sat again.
She twisted hers open and took a sip. She hadn’t realized how thirsty she was, savoring the cool liquid on her throat.
After a second sip, she set the bottle on her lap.
“You prevented me from staying with my crew. You took me against my will. Hate to tell you this, but that’s the definition of kidnapping. ”
The Hispanic man at the back grunted, earning a sharp glance from Jasper.
“Your crew is safe,” Jaz said. “They’ll be taken to port, debriefed, and released.”
“While I’m what? Your prisoner?”